Sunday, 21 October 2018

The long years before I found Underground
and Z seem like some bad dream—an endless series of fetish groups and kink
clubs, personal ads and bar hook-ups, as I searched everywhere for someone who
could understand and satisfy my particular needs. S&M folk like to believe
they're tolerant and accepting. They weren't ready to tolerate me, though.

Z doesn’t need blades or blood to take me
where I want to go. His unnatural power alone would be enough. He understands
how the ritual excites me, though—the slow glide of metal across my breast or
along my thigh, the rush of bright pain, the flare of desire as ruby droplets
gather in the knife’s wake.

I never told him about the blades and the
blood. He just knew, as he seems to know so much else about me.

Thus far tonight, despite the dagger, there
has been no blood—just his mouth on mine and his probing thoughts. You are sure? comes his question, as
clear as if he’d spoken aloud. I’ve become accustomed to his presence in my mind,
the quiet authority that soothes me on the rare occasions when fleeting terror
breaks through my lassitude.

I cannot nod—my muscles no longer obey
me—but I mentally broadcast my assent. Even now, after all our encounters, I am
not certain who he is, what limits he may have, how dangerous he could be. That
doesn’t matter. I’d never refuse him.

His kiss sucks the breath from my lungs and
the energy from my limbs, leaving me gloriously weak. Liquid pleasure ripples
through my languid flesh, flowing in to replace the restless hunger that
normally animates my body. I sink into the clean, sunshine-smelling sheets. My
pulse sluggish, my breath stuttering, I close my eyes and let myself drown in
that intoxicating kiss.

The world grows fuzzy, yet every sensation
is heightened. His skin is silken. His mouth is hot as the sun, wet as rain.
Tonight he smells of summer flowers and January snow. His hands roam over my
nakedness as he kisses me, stroking, coaxing, delicate but insistent. Each
touch is an invitation to release a bit more of my self to him.

When he finally stretches out on top of me,
I am barely breathing. My heart beats no more than a dozen times per minute. I
should be unconscious, my life hanging by a thread. Instead I’m acutely aware
of him—the pressure of his hairless chest against my breasts, his winter scent.
That, and the ripples of phantom bliss I feel despite my paralysis.

Then Z slides his cock into the hungry void
between my sprawled thighs. Fire streaks through me. Answering energy surges back
to him in a delicious, dizzy rush. I’d thought I was close to depleted, but I’m
wrong. I have more, much more to give.

Z’s fingers might be gentle, but he wields
his cock with all the brutal force I crave. Even in my debilitated state, I
find myself close to climax as he pounds my cunt. He hovers over me, supporting
himself on his arms, skewering me again and again. I’m far too weak to clench
my muscles and hold him inside, but my slick folds cling to his cock as he
withdraws before each savage thrust. Each time he enters my flesh, he takes
more of me.

To Seduce an Omega

Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf

Giving It UP For The Gods

Dominated by the Dragon

About Me

Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae or BDSM loving dragons. Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life - or Kryssie - throws at them.

Kryssie's pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.Her books are all stand alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.